Playing To Win
by emospritelet
Summary: A series of one-shots from The Long Game 'verse, to celebrate 1,000 reviews for that fic. Anon prompt via tumblr: 'There was a reference in chapter 59 of TLG of how Marcus remembered in a previous incarnation when Belle agreed to marry him after he gave her *ahem* the first time. Could you write about that' Smut, you say? I can ALWAYS write about that...
1. At First Sight - Rated K plus

**Okay, if you haven't read The Long Game, this may make no sense. Brief synopsis: Gold and Belle were bound together thousands of years ago, and have loved one another in every life since then. Something happened in the fourteenth century to break their bond, and Gold has been looking for her ever since. When they meet in this life, he remembers their past, but she doesn't.**

**Deweymay prompt: Gold sees Belle for the first time in this life.**

* * *

Gold drummed his fingers on his mahogany desk, eyes scanning the piece of paper in front of him. _Belle French_, it read, followed by an address in Storybrooke. His eyebrows had risen at that, when he had first obtained the information, gleaned from Smee's offhand comment about the inventor that had redeemed the fire-opal necklace. Gold had found out that the man had a daughter, and the search had continued from there. Ironic, that after all these years of seeking her, he should be drawn back to that quaint little town. Still, in some ways it made things easier; he did, at least, have a history there. The fact that he owned most of the town helped, too, although he had checked his lists of tenants, and Miss French was not among them. It was unusual for someone to own their own house in Storybrooke, and not be reliant upon him, but – well, she never had been one to conform. He allowed himself a brief smile at the thought of her, before promptly hardening the lines of his mouth once more. It wasn't the time to celebrate. There had been too many disappointments, too many broken dreams and dashed hopes. He was trying hard not to get his hopes up again.

He pushed the piece of paper with its promise of a life rediscovered, of answered prayers and familiar touches, away from him, and pulled his phone from his pocket. Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he sat back in his chair, and listened briefly to a message from Regina Mills, the Dean of the university in Storybrooke. He curled his lip as her smooth, insincere greeting washed over him. A donor's evening in August. She was aware how busy he was, which was why she was giving him so much notice, and would be _most _grateful if he would consider attending. The university was undergoing some substantial renovations and she wanted all its 'friends' to be assured of her continuing gratitude for their generosity. So. Regina was fund-raising again. He really didn't have the time. A cheque, perhaps, with an appropriately worded card. He would put Dover on it. He deleted Regina's message before dialling Jefferson. The phone rang for a moment before being picked up.

"Gold?" came Jefferson's voice. "Long time, no see. What can I do for you?"

"I may need your assistance with something," said Gold, long fingers stroking patterns on the table top, running over the name on the piece of paper, caressing it. _Belle. _

"I'm always happy to take your money, Gold, you know that," said Jefferson, with the sound of a grin in his voice. Gold's expression was wry.

"I'm looking for someone, whom I believe to be in Storybrooke," he said. "Belle French."

"Belle?" Jefferson sounded surprised. "I know her. She works at the university. What do you want with her?" His voice was cautious, a note of warning in it, and Gold relaxed a little. Jefferson cared for her. That was good. He could keep an eye on her until Gold arranged his affairs in Boston.

"It's a private family matter," he said indifferently. "You need have no fear that I intend her any harm. Far from it. You say that she works at the university?"

"She teaches English." Jefferson sounded a little easier. "What do you want me to do?"

"For the moment, nothing," said Gold, sitting back in his chair. He studied the ring on the third finger of his right hand, the blue-grey moonstone shining in the light from his desk lamp. "I may be returning to Storybrooke. If I do, I want you to do a little surveillance for me, that's all."

"Understood."

"Thank you, Mr Milliner." Gold hung up, and pursed his lips, tapping tented fingers against them. It appeared that a trip to Storybrooke was necessary.

* * *

He had Dover drive them out of Boston the next day, leaving ridiculously early in the morning so that they could be assured of being there around eight. The drive was made in silence, Gold going through some papers to pass the time as Dover steered the Cadillac along tree-lined roads, the sun rising just as they entered Storybrooke. Gold instructed him to drive to the university that sat on the outskirts of town, and Dover turned up the street by the park, heading out to the campus. Gold put his paperwork away, looking out of the window with a keen eye as they drew near. A trickle of students were making their way up to the university buildings, and Gold's heart began to thump as they neared the main gates.

"Stop the car, please, Dover," he said quietly, and Dover obediently slowed the Cadillac to a halt, wheels scrunching on dead leaves.

Gold scanned the small crowd of teachers and students, swallowing hard in his nervousness. It was nearing eight-thirty, and he expected her to be in the university well before nine; punctuality was a strength of hers. He hoped he hadn't missed her arrival. His eyes swept anxiously back and forth, pausing momentarily whenever he saw a glimpse of dark curls or pale skin, then moving on restlessly. Dover remained silent and still in the front seat of the car, his large hands on the wheel. Gold was beginning to despair of ever seeing her, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blue. He desperately pushed open the door of the car and scrambled out, cursing his leg as it threatened to crumple beneath him and pitch him into the leaf litter. Straightening up, his hands folded over his cane, he searched for her eagerly, and it was then that he saw her in the flesh for the first time in over six hundred years.

She was as beautiful as ever, he marvelled, her pale cheeks pink with the cold, her chestnut hair bouncing in waves down her back. He recalled running his fingers through that soft hair, stroking her face with his hands as he moved inside her, a thousand memories from a hundred lives or more. Her laugh. Her wit. Their children. All that they had lost, returned to him in this one vision of loveliness. She wore a dark blue cloche hat and a wool coat in a lighter shade of blue above black wool tights and wedge-heeled boots. He sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity might be listening for the fashions of this time, as her shapely legs were displayed for his pleasure. She was carrying a pile of books in her arms, hugged to her chest protectively, and a smile pulled at his lips as he watched her approach the edge of the sidewalk.

_See me_, he willed fervently. _See me now! _

She looked briefly to left and right before trotting across the road, but her eyes did not meet his, and she didn't look back. He felt a strange sensation in his chest, a loosening of the crushing tightness that had been building there since he had come back to Storybrooke, and with it his eyes stung and tears began to form. He couldn't tear his gaze away as he watched her chat briefly with a red-haired man in a tweed suit, her bright laughter causing a twisting pain in his stomach. She bit her lip in the gesture that always made him want to kiss her, her blue eyes shining as she spoke animatedly. The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms, to press his lips to hers and taste her sweetness, was almost unbearable. He recalled that she didn't know him, and to do so would probably end up with him being arrested. Slowly. That was the key. She didn't know him. But she would.

As she moved out of sight in the university grounds he slumped back against the car, shaking with emotion. Tears began to flow freely, pouring down his cheeks, and he turned and wrenched open the car door, falling onto the back seat and burying his head in his hands as he wept. Images flashed through his head, memories of their times together, laughing with her as she teased him, making love to her for the first time, the pain and love in her eyes at Baelfire's birth, their final kiss before he lost her. Every bright hope he had treasured in his search for her, through seven lifetimes. Every crushing disappointment as his hopes were dashed time and time again.

His shoulders shook, tears dripping through his fingers and running off the end of his nose. Oh God, _Belle!_ She even had her old name. It was too much, too much. Her face, her laugh, after all this time. He desperately hoped that this was not a dream, that he wouldn't wake up alone in his bed with his heart breaking yet again, that lost part of his soul forever out of reach. He sobbed quietly, dashing tears from his cheeks with the heels of his hands.

"Sir?" Dover said worriedly. "Mr Gold, sir? Are you alright?"

He tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths and swallowing hard, and looked up through his tears at Dover's concerned face, reflected in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm well, thank you Dover," he said quietly, his voice shaking a little. "It appears we'll be moving back to Storybrooke. Would you arrange for the house to be cleaned in advance of our arrival?"

"Very good, sir."

Gold let his head fall back against the leather with a sigh, wiping away his tears.

"Oh, and Dover?"

"Sir?"

"When was the university donor's evening scheduled for?"

"August fifteenth, sir."

Gold smiled. "Inform Dean Mills that I shall be attending."

"Yes, sir."

He settled back in his seat, running his hands over his face as the car pulled away, his heart thumping with love and hope.

She was real. She was alive.

* * *

**A/N: A teeny bit angsty, I know, but you know how it ends...**

**As most of the prompts I received from my dear readers were smutty, it is likely that the rating of these one-shots will go up!**


	2. Start of Something Beautiful - K plus

**A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews: Grace5231973, Wondermorena, isfoss86, OneMagician, crazykat77, Erik'sTrueAngel, AngelOfMusic44, deweymay, Kiri Huo Ziv, JosephineM, Twyla Mercedes and Lattelady.**

**For those not familiar with the 'verse – Ruby has been a student at the university in Storybrooke, studying forensics. Archie is a professor of psychology there and teaches criminal profiling (which she took), so he's been keeping her at arms' length. Ruby has now finished her finals…**

**Prompt by AngelOfMusic44: Ruby and Archie's first date.**

* * *

The sound of a frustrated exclamation drew Belle to Ruby's room as she passed by on the landing. Poking her head around the door, Belle almost burst out laughing. Every single item of clothing that Ruby possessed appeared to be strewn on the floor or the bed, with a few unfortunate pieces screwed up and tossed into a lonely corner. Leaning against the doorframe, Belle folded her arms and raised a questioning eyebrow as Ruby turned towards her, dark hair fanning out and red lips curled into a grimace. Belle tried hard not to laugh. Ruby had finished her finals the previous day, which meant that she and Archie could officially date. Rather than celebrate the end of her exams, Ruby had wound herself up into a frenzy about their upcoming evening out. Hence, Belle presumed, her current state of agitation.

"I take it you're having a wardrobe crisis," she said gently, and Ruby threw her arms up in frustration.

"Why is _everything _I own slutty?" she demanded, and Belle stifled a giggle.

"It's not, you're exaggerating."

"I'm not!" moaned Ruby dejectedly. "Granny was right, I dress like a drag queen!"

Belle scanned the pile of discarded clothes, and pulled out a white cotton summer dress.

"Well, how about this?" she asked, and Ruby stared at her incredulously.

"I can't wear _that_! Are you insane?"

Belle reminded herself that her friend was stressed, and tried hard not to roll her eyes.

"D'you want to borrow something of mine?" she asked instead, and at Ruby's helpless look, went to her own wardrobe and pulled out a few dresses.

"Here," she suggested, holding up one in dark green silk with a halter neck and flared skirt. "How about this? It's just past the knee on me, so it'll be a little shorter on you, but the colour's good on you."

Ruby took it, her expression dubious. "Have you had sex with Gold in this dress?"

Belle thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Ew!" Ruby wrinkled her nose and made to give it back.

"It's been cleaned!" Belle protested. "Seriously, Rubes, if you're looking for a dress that I haven't had sex with Gold in, you'll be going on your date naked!"

"I might just as well be, considering what the hell's in my wardrobe!" snarled Ruby. She ran agitated hands through her hair. "Why can't I dress like a _normal_ person?"

Belle took her hands and squeezed them.

"Honey, Archie's taking you to dinner because he likes _you_," she said gently. "He doesn't want you to pretend to be someone you're not. You should wear something you feel comfortable in. Try the dress."

Ruby sighed and nodded, pulling off her shirt and skirt and stepping into the dress, allowing Belle to zip her up. It was a little big on the bust and hips, but Belle was right. The colour suited her pale skin and red lips, and the skirt moved beautifully. Ruby heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Bellz," she said gratefully. "Sorry for the temporary insanity."

"No problem," chuckled Belle. "When's he picking you up?"

Ruby bit her lip. "Three hours," she ventured, and Belle threw her arms around her.

"Oh, girl, you've got it bad!" she commiserated.

"It's not funny," said Ruby grumpily, hugging her back. "I don't remember you ever being this bad with Gold."

"To be fair, our first date occurred under very different circumstances," allowed Belle.

Ruby sighed, and peeled off the dress again. "Give me a hand, would you?" she asked, picking up the strewn clothes to put them back in her wardrobe.

"Is Gold coming over tonight?" she asked, as they put dresses onto hangers. Belle smiled fondly.

"He is. He tried to get me to come to his, but he backed down once I explained what you were up to. I'll be here for moral support, however things go."

Ruby sniffed. "He'd better not make fun," she growled.

"He likes Archie," said Belle, with a shrug. "As much as he likes anyone. I think he approves."

"Well, lucky me," said Ruby sarcastically, and Belle shot her a reproving look. She suddenly looked horrified. "Oh, no! He's not going to speak to Archie, is he?"

"I doubt it," said Belle, amused. "He knows you can take care of yourself. Now, stop being so bloody nervous and get ready to enjoy your date!"

"Yes," said Ruby decidedly. "Bath, relax, glass of wine, dress, date, fabulous time, food, kisses, bed. For me, I mean!" she added quickly. "Me, in bed, on my own!"

Belle giggled.

* * *

Ruby finally managed to calm down, thanks to a bubble bath and a large glass of wine, and by the time Archie came to pick her up she was more excited than nervous. She looked beautiful, thought Belle, the green dress teamed with gold heels and earrings, and the look on Archie's face when she opened the door to him was priceless.

"Let me just grab my purse," she said breathlessly, and let him into the house.

"Hey, Archie," said Belle warmly, as he walked into the kitchen a little awkwardly. "Where are you guys heading tonight?"

"Uh – I have reservations at Marco's," said Archie, blinking furiously, and snatching his glasses off his nose to clean them.

"I trust you'll have Miss Lucas back at a reasonable hour, Dr Hopper." Gold's drawling voice made Archie jump as the smaller man sidled up behind him on silent feet.

"Oh, Mr Gold! Of course!" he said eagerly. "Our reservation is for eight."

"I'm ready!" Ruby bounced into the room, looking uncertainly from Belle to Gold to Archie.

"Have fun, you two!" said Belle brightly, taking Gold's hand as they went to show the couple out.

"Try to have her home by eleven," added Gold, grinning as Ruby scowled at him.

* * *

The restaurant was a friendly, cheerful place, with excellent food, as Ruby well knew. Inside, the ambience was warm and relaxed, with candles on the tables casting a soft glow over everything. Marco's son August was serving, and he grinned widely at Ruby as he showed them to a table, making her blush. He brought them a bottle of wine on the house, pouring for both of them, and Archie promptly knocked his glass over in his nervousness, flushing red and stammering apologies as Ruby giggled.

Strangely, seeing that he was just as nervous as she made Ruby feel much calmer, and once August had mopped up the spilt wine and poured Archie another glass, she reached across the table to take his hand. He took a deep breath, returning her squeeze with a wobbly smile.

"I'm really glad we're doing this," she said. "I've been waiting all year to have you to myself."

Archie blushed furiously, dropping his gaze but grinning with pleasure. "I have to confess that I've been looking forward to this with an equal amount of joy and utter terror," he said, and raised his eyes to hers. There was uncertainty there, but hope, too, and Ruby gave him a warm smile.

"You should have seen me earlier," she said ruefully. "Belle nearly had to slap some sense into me."

"Really?" He brightened a little at that, and sat up straighter. Ruby pulled back too, releasing his hand and picking up her wineglass. He took his own, clinking it against hers in a toast.

"Shall we order?" suggested Ruby, and he hurriedly picked up his menu.

* * *

When they had ordered (beef carpaccio followed by seafood linguine for Ruby, scallops followed by tagliatelle with porcini and truffles for Archie), he excused himself to the bathroom, and Ruby sat back in her chair, taking a sip of her wine, her heart swelling with excitement and pleasure. After months of pining and wishing and a few snatched kisses, they were finally dating! She was determined not to scare him off by being too forward (or desperate, as Granny was prone to comment). She was aware that he was shy and reserved, and she had no problem with taking the lead, but she didn't want to rush things. Well, okay, she _did _want to rush things, but it was probably best _not _to rush things. She hated it when Granny was right, and quite often did the opposite of what she said, just to prove that she could. The fact that Emma, Snow, Belle and (God help her) Gold, had all said the same, had convinced her to take things slow, however.

"Ruby Lucas." A deceptively sweet voice pulled her out of her reverie, and Ruby tried to prevent herself from curling her lip as she looked up to see Ashley Boyd looking down at her. She and Ashley had been friends at one point, until Viktor dumped Ruby and moved (briefly) onto Ashley. She had been overheard saying unkind things about Ruby since then, and their one-time friendship had morphed into animosity.

"On a date?" asked Ashley innocently, and gestured to the dress. "Nice outfit. Who did you borrow it from?"

Ruby bristled, but tried not to let it show. "It's Belle's," she said stiffly, and Ashley smiled knowingly.

"I thought so," she said. "Not your usual style, is it? Who's the lucky man this week?"

Ruby smiled sweetly. "I realise my love life probably isn't as exciting as yours. Been knocked up by any strangers lately?"

It was Ashley's turn to look furious. It was Storybrooke's worst kept secret that she had no idea who the father of her 18-month old daughter Alexandra was, and no one had come forward to be tested for the honour. Ruby felt a certain amount of satisfaction at the rising blush of anger on Ashley's face.

"Oh, hey Ashley!" Archie's return was welcome, and Ashley quickly schooled her expression to a flat, pleasant smile.

"Dr Hopper, what a surprise!" she said sweetly, and looked between him and Ruby. "Oh, you're here – together! Well, how lovely!" She bared her teeth at Ruby in a semblance of a grin. "It's so good of you to take the less promising students out to commiserate after their exams." She batted her eyelashes at him as he looked confused. "You two have a _lovely _evening!"

Ruby shrank a little in her seat, bright spots of colour in her cheek as Ashley flounced away. Archie looked at her, concerned.

"Ruby, what is it?" he asked quietly. "You know that's not what I'm doing, right?"

"She just stoked the fires of my insecurity," admitted Ruby, with a wry smile. "I thought finals had gone well, but now I keep thinking about things I could have done better, and…"

"Ruby, stop," he said firmly. "You're an excellent student, and I'm sure you did just fine." He squeezed her hand at her tremulous smile. "How about we talk about something else entirely? What are your plans now you've finished?"

Ruby relaxed a little at that, and took another drink of her wine as she picked up the conversational baton.

The date passed pleasantly. The food was delicious and the conversation flowed easily once they had both gotten over their initial nerves. Archie ordered a portion of Marco's Cherry Almond Bliss for dessert, with two spoons, and Ruby giggled once August had left with their order.

"Belle tells me great things of this dessert," she said, when Archie looked enquiringly at her. She held up a hand. "Don't ask, by the way, unless you want a vision of her and Gold that you can't get out of your head at three in the morning."

He chuckled, reddening slightly, and refilled her glass.

"Discretion being the better part of valour, I think it best not to enquire," he said gravely, and she returned his smile.

The dessert arrived: a confection of mascarpone, cream, dark chocolate ganache and amaretti biscuits. Amaretto-soaked cherries were studded through it, gleaming like dark jewels. August produced it with a flourish.

"Enjoy," he announced. "Belle told me that this dessert should be called 'Better Than Sex', but Pop thought the name was a bit too risqué. I'd be pleased to hear your verdict, though." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Ruby, and she glared at him, which only seemed to amuse him more.

"Hate to disappoint you, August, but Belle no longer thinks that," she said, and looked pensive. "Although, I am aware that she and Gold occasionally combine the two."

August wrinkled his nose. "Thanks for the image, Rubes. Seriously."

She grinned and stuck out her tongue, then blushed as she realised what she'd done. Archie chuckled and picked up a spoon, and August snatched up the other before Ruby could grab it.

"Let me just take this out of the way for you," he said innocently, and grinned widely as her eyes shot daggers at him, before turning on his heel and moving to another table.

Archie had loaded a spoonful of the creamy dessert, and was looking uncertain. Ruby drew a deep breath, and took the lead, leaning forward.

"Hit me," she said, and he smiled, proffering the spoon. Ruby closed her lips around the jagged lump of cream, chocolate and cherries, and Archie swallowed hard as her eyes closed with an expression of ecstasy. She pulled back, red lips cleaning the spoon as she went, leaving a faint white smear of mascarpone on the bright steel. A low, rumbling moan issued from her throat as she chewed and swallowed, and Archie's Adam's apple bobbed in consternation.

"My _God_, that's good!" Her voice was low and throaty, full of promise and doing terrible things to Archie's concentration. Ruby's eyes flicked open to see him gazing at her reverently, and she smiled a little self-consciously.

"Now you," she said coyly, and he started, before returning his gaze to the dessert. He took a large mouthful, and Ruby watched as his eyes closed and he savoured the blend of flavours. There was a blob of mascarpone at the side of his mouth, and Ruby reached across and scooped it up with her fingertip. He watched avidly as she put it in her mouth, and swallowed hard at the small sound of enjoyment she made.

"I think perhaps Belle was wrong to change her mind on the name of this dessert," he said eventually, and she shrugged.

"I guess we'll find out," she said boldly, and concealed a smirk as his eyes widened.

* * *

After they had finished the dessert, and managed not to leap over the table at one another, which Ruby considered a personal triumph, Archie paid and they exited the restaurant. August whispered _Go get him, tiger!_ to Ruby as they left, making her giggle. They decided to walk back to Ruby's house, as Archie had had a couple of glasses of wine, and she took his hand, threading her fingers through his.

"We could have a nightcap at Granny's, if you like," he offered, and Ruby wrinkled her nose.

"I don't know…" she said reluctantly. "She'd just stand there _smirking _at me."

Archie looked puzzled. "Really? Does she – ah – not approve?"

He looked uncertain, and she squeezed his hand, giving him a reassuring look.

"Quite the opposite," she said. "That's the problem. Me doing something Granny approves of, well…" She gave him a wry smile. "This is breaking new ground for me. You're a shrink. Is this kind of rebellion okay? Am I – normal?"

"No," he said immediately, turning to face her. "You're not normal, Ruby." He took a breath, as though steeling himself. "You're perfect," he said simply, and her lips parted as she smiled at him, touched. He lifted a hesitant hand to cup her cheek, and bent to kiss her, his fingers sliding into her hair. She let her hands slip around his waist and up his back, their tongues touching, soft, tentative. He deepened the kiss and she let out a tiny moan, pressing herself against him.

The sound of a car horn blaring made them jump, and Ruby clung to him as their heads whipped around in the direction of the noise. A police patrol car was approaching, with a blonde head poking out of the window.

"About damn time, you two!" called Emma, sharing a grin with Ruby, who reddened as her friend waved cheerfully and drove off.

"So," ventured Archie, as she turned back around. "How about that drink?"

* * *

**A/N: Ah, the cuteness that is Red Cricket! Hope you enjoyed!**


	3. The Last Time We Loved - Rated T

**A/N: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers: AngelOfMusic44, Twwyla Mercedes, crazykat77, Lattelady, JosephineM, Grace5231973, spacecats, Erik'sTrueAngel, deweymay, Guest, Wondermorena.**

**For those not familiar with the 'verse: in the fourteenth century Belle and Gold shared a past life. She was Lady Isabelle of Langfell Castle, in Avonleigh, daughter of Earl Richard. He was a spinner named Rum (actually, he's more than a spinner, but we'll come onto that, this is no woobie!Rumple) who came to the town. He is aware of their past lives, but she isn't yet.**

**Prompt by JosephineM: "I would love to know how he got her to fall in love with him in a previous life"**

* * *

Lady Isabelle Beauchamp walked tiredly along the dirt track that led from the town of Avonleigh to Langfell Castle. She had been visiting the baker's wife, who had recently given birth to twins and was in a bad way, and she carried a basket of apples, which the baker had insisted on pressing upon her for her kindness to his wife. She was unsure whether the woman would survive, but had taken the couple a joint of beef to try to build up her strength. The baker had been effusive in his thanks. She was tired, having sat with the baker's wife since daybreak, changing her babies' soiled clothing and mopping the woman's sweaty brow. She felt dirty and rumpled, although her hands were very clean from the number of times she had washed them. She brushed a curl of hair back from her face impatiently, aware that she hardly looked the picture of elegance that the Earl's daughter was supposed to portray.

The sound of a horse's hooves and the squeaking of a cart made her look up, and she saw a rider coming towards her, heading for the town. She moved to the side of the road to allow his horse and the cart that was following behind him to pass. She glanced up at the rider as he drew to a stop before her, a man in his middle years with brown hair falling around his face and longer at the back, almost to his shoulders. He was dressed finely in good linen and a thick wool coat and cloak, his trousers made of soft brown leather. His eyes met hers, deep brown gazing into clear blue, and her lips parted as she felt a strange jolt in the depths of her belly. She blushed, somehow unable to take her eyes off him. He leant on the withers of his horse, looking down on her with a strange, slanting grin.

"Well, my beauty," he said, in a drawling, accented voice. "Here we are again."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused. "Have we met?"

He smiled widely, showing surprisingly white teeth.

"Why don't you tell me?" he suggested, and her eyes narrowed.

"You're very impertinent," she said loftily, lifting her chin. "Do you know who I am?"

He looked her over slowly, an insolent smirk on his face, and she could feel a blush rising in her face.

"By the look of that fine blue dress, I'd say you're the Earl's daughter," he said. "Although the state of your hair makes me think that perhaps you're a pedlar child who stole it from the castle laundry." He grinned at her, his eyebrows twitching. Isabelle grabbed at her dark curls self-consciously, trying to twist them into some semblance of order.

"How dare you!" she snapped, her eyes flashing. "I am Lady Isabelle Beauchamp, you… you…"

He pulled a face. "Look, if you're going to insult me, would you mind if we did it on the move? I'd like to reach Avonleigh by midnight. That should give you enough time to think of an epithet suitably dire." He smirked at her again, and she glared at him.

"I'm heading towards the castle," she said stiffly. "Good day to you!"

Sticking her nose in the air, and trying to ignore his soft chuckle, she stormed past the cart, her eyes briefly casting towards three large rounded shapes draped with sacking in the back of it. The old man seated on the cart winked at her as she passed. She was so intent on marching forcefully away that she didn't notice the rabbit hole at the side of the road, and her foot caught in it, pitching her forwards into the mud and twisting her ankle. Isabelle let out a small cry of pain, rolling onto her back before remembering herself and trying to stand. Her basket had fallen, the apples rolling in every direction.

Isabelle hissed through her teeth, tears starting in her eyes. She had skinned the heels of her hands on the stony ground, and mud was now caked on the front of her dress. She heard the sound of a horse again, and hurriedly tried to rise.

"Stay where you are, my Lady." The stranger's voice had a commanding tone, and Isabelle sighed at him witnessing her clumsiness, although she couldn't for a moment think why she cared. Everyone in Avonleigh had seen her fall on her face at some point. He knelt by her side, and without ceremony hiked her skirts up to her knees.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, slapping his hands away, and he shot her a brief frown.

"You may have broken something," he said sharply. "Use the intelligence you were born with and let me look."

Flushing, she acquiesced, and he grasped her booted foot with gentle fingers.

"Straighten," he ordered, and she obeyed, wincing slightly. He moved her foot gently from side to side, then around in a circle, causing her to bite her lip with the pain.

"Try to bend it inwards," he suggested, and she did so, letting out an exclamation. He nodded.

"A sprain, my Lady, no more." He stood up, picking up the apples and packing them back into her basket before holding out his hand to her. "Come. I'll take you to the castle."

She hesitated, but there was no way that she could make the journey on foot, so she let him pull her up. She stood on one foot as he mounted his horse and reached down to her, hauling her up to sit across the saddle in front of him. The pommel was digging into her hip, and she was pressed very close against him. She could smell his scent, musky and very male, a hint of spice. It was a little stale from days of travel, but by no means unpleasant. Dimly, she wondered what had made her consider how he smelt. He plonked the basket of apples on her lap, interrupting her thoughts, and clucked to the horse. Isabelle wobbled dangerously.

"Hold on, child, I won't bite," he said impatiently, and she hesitated, before sliding a hand around his waist. The impropriety of their situation made her blush, and she sincerely hoped they would meet no one on the road to the castle.

"What's your name?" she asked, and he flicked his eyes to hers momentarily.

"Rumold," he said. "You may call me Rum."

"Indeed I shall not!" she said sharply, pulling a wry smile from him. "What is your trade?"

"I'm a spinner," he said, surprising her.

"I never met a man who span before," she said curiously. She eyed his red wool coat, good quality and newly made. "You dress remarkably well for a commoner, Master Spinner."

He chuckled. "Ah, you'll find that I'm remarkably _un_common, dearie."

"What brings you to Avonleigh?" she asked, and his smile became secretive.

"Would you believe that I heard rumours of the beautiful Lady Isabelle, and decided that I had to witness such perfection for myself?"

"I would not," she said tartly. "You could just say that it was your trade that carried you here."

"Are you in the habit of asking questions to which you already know the answer?" he asked, amused, and she huffed in annoyance.

"Are you always so irritating?"

"See, there you go again," he said mildly, and she giggled, surprising herself.

"What was in the cart?" she asked, and he looked at her briefly, dark eyes searching.

"Spinning wheels," he said. "A new invention from the East."

Isabelle was interested. "Really? I'd like to see them."

"Then perhaps I'll show you," he said. "I intend to set up in the town, and take on some apprentices. No doubt there's a house there that might interest me. I'll need stables, of course."

"You'll have to join the Guild if you want to work here," she pointed out. "The other spinners won't be pleased."

"Oh, they'll be no problem," he said dismissively, and she looked at him curiously.

"How can you be so sure?"

He leant forwards then, his mouth near her ear. "Because I always get what I want," he said conspiratorially, and the feel of his breath made her shiver.

"The only house with stables is at the end of the town," she said. "It's been empty for a while now. I expect the rats have taken over."

"No matter," he said easily. They rode in silence for a while, and Isabelle gradually relaxed against him, causing a tiny smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. She scanned his face curiously, noting the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the way the pulse of his heart beat in his throat. There was short stubble on his cheeks and chin, gleaming gold in the sunlight, and the first traces of silver at his temples.

"How old are you?" she asked, and he eyed her briefly.

"Forty," he said. "And you?"

She blushed, realising her question had been impertinent, and therefore not begrudging his.

"Fourteen," she said.

"Ah. Of an age to be married, then."

She pulled a face. "My father intended for me to be, but then he left for the Holy Land. My mother hasn't the energy to sort these things out herself, so I'm safe until he returns."

"Safe?" He frowned at her choice of words. "Do you fear it, my Lady? Marriage?"

She hesitated. "I fear losing myself," she admitted. "And I fear who he may make me wed. The men he favours are – rough. Soldiers, like him. The Earl of Salisbury, for example. I saw him kick a hunting dog to death once because he lost the quarry he was chasing. I should be afraid to be married to him." She put a sudden hand to her mouth, unsure why she was being so open with him. His lips had twisted with displeasure at her words, although she couldn't understand why.

"Are _you_ married?" she asked, to steer the topic of conversation away from her, and he gave her a small, secretive smile.

"No. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"It isn't time."

Her brow furrowed. "What does _that _mean?"

"Well, just as it isn't time for you, it isn't time for me, either," he said enigmatically. She frowned at him, but fell silent for a moment, her brain ticking over everything he had told her. He was still watching her, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

"Who was the man in the cart?" she asked, trying not to flush at his intense look. "Is he a spinner too?"

He looked momentarily surprised, and pulled his gaze away. "Doc? No, he's a healer."

Her eyes widened with interest. "Really? That's good. The monastery has an infirmary, but I sometimes think that the people would be better off without the interference of the monks."

His mouth flattened in a line. "I think that can be said of many aspects of life."

"You don't approve of monks?"

"I find that focusing too much on the afterlife leads to missed opportunities in this one," he said. "And I find it hard to feel enthusiasm for a bunch of people that encourage their followers to spend their lives feeling guilty and think that all learning should be reserved for men, as though women were somehow inferior."

Isabelle gasped, shifting in her seat and almost falling from the horse before he grabbed her and pulled her back, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

"You believe women should be able to learn, just as men do?" she said breathlessly.

"Of course." He steered the horse around a large patch of brambles, avoiding their grasping branches, and turned his head to look at her. "Do you like to read, my Lady?"

"I do," she said eagerly. "But there's little to read at the castle. Brother Philip occasionally lets me read some of the books he holds, but we have to be careful the other monks don't find out."

His smile widened. "A good reason for you to come and visit me, then," he said, with satisfaction. "I have books. Not as many as the monks, to be sure, but I believe you'll find them interesting." His eyebrows twitched at her. "We'll make a scholar of you yet, my Lady."

He was watching her intently, as though he expected his words to hold some special meaning for her, and she bit her lip curiously, fascinated by him. The thought of seeing his books, _real _books, made her want to burst with excitement.

"May I visit you?" she asked eagerly. "Mother pays little attention to what I do, so getting away should be no trouble."

That, at least, was certainly true. Her grandmother, the formidable Lady Maud, had died the previous spring, and with her the fierce intent to curtail Isabelle's desire to visit the people of Avonleigh alone. Isabelle found that she didn't miss her grandmother at all; the woman had been unbearably strict. Since Lady Maud's death she was no longer watched like a hawk, her chastity guarded as though it were worth more than a king's ransom. She dreaded to think of how her father might react when he returned and found her running around the countryside on her own. She looked at the spinner expectantly, hoping he would agree to her visits.

"As you wish, my Lady," he said, with an air of indifference. He gestured ahead of them. "I take it this is your home?"

Isabelle sighed as she saw Langfell Castle looming ahead, its cold stone walls dark and uninviting. He clucked the horse on, and eventually they turned into the keep, some of her father's men watching curiously as Lady Isabelle was carried past them with a basket of apples, her hair all over the place and mud on her dress.

"My Lady?" Anthony's gruff voice cut through the noises of dogs barking and men practicing with weapons in the yard. He was an enormous man, with a thick beard and long, wild hair, very protective of Isabelle. At that moment he was standing with one hand on the huge axe he carried at his side, glaring at the man holding her.

"Master Spinner offered to carry me home after I sprained my ankle, Anthony," explained Isabelle, before any unpleasantness could begin. "If you could help me down, please?"

Anthony dropped his gaze, and grunted something, taking her basket of apples and handing it to a nearby kitchen boy before taking her in his arms. He nodded curtly.

"See the steward, he'll give you a coin," he said gruffly, and the spinner's lip curled.

"I think not," he said coldly, and bowed from his saddle. "Good day to you, my Lady."

He turned his horse and walked sedately from the yard, Anthony frowning after him and Isabelle biting her lip uncertainly. She had already decided that she wanted to see him again.

* * *

She managed to restrain herself for a week before she couldn't wait any longer. She had told herself that he needed time to find a house in the town, to sign with the Guild and settle into whatever place Avonleigh society had found for him. She set off when the sun was past noon, a basket in her hands with bread, fruit, a bottle of wine, a piece of bacon and two lengths of sausage from the kitchen, and mentioned breezily to her maid Hannah that she was going to pay a visit to the blacksmith, whose young daughter was ill. While this was true, it was not her only destination. She stayed long enough to see that the girl was well on the way to recovery, and to hand over most of her gifts of food, before taking the almost-empty basket with its wine and sausage with her.

She easily learned where the spinner had taken up residence, and made her way along the mud streets to the large house at the end of the town, its roof newly-mended and two horses cropping grass in the fields behind. Isabelle felt her heart start to thump strangely as she knocked on the door, and when he appeared behind it her mouth dropped open for a moment, before she could close it with a snap. He was shirtless, his hair damp and beads of water clinging to his shoulders, and his mouth spread in a slow smile as he looked her up and down.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he said, stepping back from the door and pulling a white linen tunic over his head. Isabelle watched, fascinated, as the small, wiry muscles in his chest and stomach rippled. She was blushing fiercely, a strange ache in her belly. She had seen shirtless men before, of course; her father's men practised their swordplay in the yard and worked up a sweat quickly. They were all far bigger in height and build than the spinner, but she had never found their muscular forms so – interesting. He tucked the tunic into his leather trousers, cutting off her view of his shape.

"I – I realise you may be busy," she stammered. "But you said that I could come and see your books and those – wheels."

He held open the door with a smile, and she ducked inside, eyes sweeping the room in curiosity. The room was large and very clean, with a bed on one side, a table with four chairs, and the roomy hearth with an iron pot of savoury pottage quietly bubbling over the fire. A rug of thick sheepskins was laid in front of it. She quickly spied a wooden shelf which contained no fewer than six books! She was almost beside herself with excitement, having never seen so many together before. She wondered if he liked to read while sitting by the fire, as she did. Idly, she thought how comfortable it might be to curl up on the sheepskin rug and read in the firelight. There was a spinning wheel there too, but smaller than the shapes she had seen in the cart.

"My large wheels are in the barn," he said, answering her unspoken question. "I have apprentices, now, and that's where they work."

"They let you into the Guild?" She span to face him, and he was leaning against the door, as though he thought she might leave if he didn't prevent it. It didn't bother her in the least, she found, although she was unused to being on her own with men. She felt unquestionably safe with him.

"Of course. I am a master of my trade, after all," he said nonchalantly. "Not to mention that I gave the alderman very favourable terms on a loan."

Isabelle's mouth dropped open. "You – _lend money_?" she breathed, and he nodded.

"For a price, obviously. How do you think I managed to purchase those books?"

"But that's – that's _usury_!" she said, her eyes wide. "The monks will be horrified."

"Good thing I don't intend to offend their delicate sensibilities by offering _them _loans, then," he said with a grin. She stared at him, fascinated, and he held her gaze until she pulled her own away in consternation.

"What if they don't pay you back?" she asked, and he shook his head, tutting gently.

"My agreements are always honoured," he said. "There's always something precious I can take if they have no coin."

Her heart thumped in her chest as she watched him smile wickedly, and she thought for a moment that this man would be dangerous, if pressed. Not to her, though.

"I – I brought you some things!" she said hurriedly, scrabbling in her basket and thrusting the sausage at him as though it were a weapon. That made him smirk, and she blushed, before he took it from her gently and looked in the basket.

"Wine?" he asked, picking up the stone jar with its wax seal. His eyes met hers, glinting with mischief. "Do you want to get me drunk, my Lady?"

"Of course not!" she said, flustered, and his grin widened.

"Ah! Than you'd like me to get _you _drunk!"

"Oh! You are just impossible!" she snapped, pulling away from him, and she heard his soft chuckle as he set the jar of wine on the table.

"Stay for dinner," he offered. "Choose a book, and read as much as you wish, I'll be back shortly."

He pulled on his red wool coat, and left the house, leaving Isabelle biting her lip uncertainly for a moment before launching herself at the books. She found a leather-bound tome by an author named Dante, and plucked it curiously from the shelf.

_"The Divine Comedy,_" she read softly, translating the Latin, and sat down in his chair, curling her legs under herself as she began to read.

* * *

He made her dinner as promised, frying the sausage she had brought and cutting it into pieces to drop into bowls of the thick pottage. It was very good, and Isabelle forgot herself enough to wipe her bowl around with a slice of crusty bread and lick her fingers afterwards, which seemed to amuse him. He poured them each a small glass of wine, which went to her head a little, and once he had rinsed the bowls and spoons they sat down at the table to finish their drinks.

"How are you liking the book?" he asked, and she glowed with pleasure.

"Oh, it's _wonderful_! I've never read anything like it before!"

"I see you read Latin, my Lady," he noted. "French too, I expect."

"Of course," she said. "Father taught me, when I was younger and he was feeling indulgent." She looked suddenly sad. "He changed when my eldest brother died. Edward and John, my other brothers, are with him now. I hope they're safe." She chewed her lip worriedly.

"You said that your father was in the Holy Land," he said, and she nodded.

"He's been gone a couple of years now. We hear from him, now and then."

"Do you miss him?" He was watching her closely, and she hesitated.

"I love my father," she said slowly. "But I enjoy the freedom I have in his absence."

"When does he return?" he asked then, and she shrugged.

"I don't know when he'll be back. Brother Philip says there's no limit to what God may ask of him, and that I shouldn't expect him home too soon."

He grunted, her words seeming to confirm something he already knew.

"What God may ask of him?" he said dryly. "Do you think that's what he's doing?"

She frowned. "You don't think those fighting the wars are doing God's work?" she asked, and he gave her a curious look.

"Are you telling me _you _do?"

Isabelle hesitated. "I suppose not," she admitted. "I think that if God wanted us to kill a large number of people, He would send some sort of plague and wipe them out."

His smile was wry. "Perhaps the good knights of England _are_ that plague, my Lady."

She frowned then. "My father is an honourable man," she said stiffly, and he shrugged, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"Definitions of honour are entirely relative and, you will find, exceedingly flexible," he said. "I can assure you that his so-called honour won't stop him murdering and whoring his way across the Holy Land."

She reddened, only partly with anger.

"You know nothing about it!" she snapped, and he rolled his eyes, making her even more irritated.

"I know soldiers, my Lady," he said wearily. "Trust me, the work they do is far from holy. Your dear father will be no different. He may have taught you Latin, but it doesn't make him any more civilised than the men he rides with." He moved away from her, towards the fire, and picked up the jug of wine. She glared after him.

_"Caput tuum in ano est,"_ she muttered under her breath, and jumped as he whirled to face her.

"Did you just tell me I have my head up my arse?" he demanded, his eyes flashing, and she reddened, nodding guiltily, whereupon he burst out laughing and continued to pour the wine. She was relieved that she didn't appear to have offended him.

"Where did you learn to read, Master Spinner?" she asked curiously, and he grinned, his eyes sparkling and full of secrets. There was so much about this man she didn't know. Yet.

"I have acquired a good deal of knowledge, over the years," he said enigmatically. "I make it a point never to forget things for long."

"Were you in the Church?" she asked then, and he snorted.

"Hardly, dearie. I doubt they'd ever admit the likes of me." He handed her another cup of wine, wiggling his eyebrows. "Here. If you're going to play the rebellious young noblewoman, you should make a thorough job of it."

She shot him a look, but she was amused, despite herself, and she took another drink as he sat back down, stretching out his leather-clad legs and crossing one booted foot over the other. He gestured to the book that she had placed by the chair next to the fire.

"Would you like to take that with you, when you go?" he asked, and her eyes bulged.

"You would – let me borrow your book?" she said disbelievingly. "But it's worth so much!"

"Well, perhaps we can make a deal," he said speculatively, sitting back in his chair and tenting his fingers. She frowned curiously, noting the gleam in his eye.

"What do you propose?" she asked, and he smiled.

"In return for me lending you my books," he said. "You must come to visit me once a week. I find that Avonleigh is distinctly lacking in intelligent conversation."

"Of course!" said Isabelle eagerly. She had wanted to do that anyway, and this way she got to read his books! She was almost beside herself with excitement. He smiled, standing up.

"And you must call me Rum," he added, and she blushed.

"I – oh – alright then," she said, flustered, and his smile widened as he held out the book.

"Read it with my best wishes, my Lady," he said, and she bit her lip, drawing in a breath as his eyes met hers. She wasn't aware of it then, and wouldn't be for a week or two, but it was that evening that Lady Isabelle Beauchamp fell in love.

* * *

**A/N: aww! For anyone who hasn't read The Long Game and is wondering, he doesn't defile a fourteen year-old. She's seventeen before he kisses her and eighteen when they get married.**


	4. Everything Changes - Rated T

**A/N: this is not a prompt, but something I really wanted to do myself. After several reviews from readers saying how many feels they had in the last one-shot (considering what happens to poor Isabelle in The Long Game), I felt like writing a bit more about them. Also, I was feeling mean, so I wrote their first kiss. Sorry guys! Big thanks to Emilie Brown for the cover art :)**

**Crazykat77, OneMagician, Erik'sTrueAngel, Twyla Mercedes, deweymay, JospehineM, Wondermorena, Kiri Huo Ziv, Valrie: thank you for all your lovely comments and encouragement. And thanks for the prompts, guys! Always happy to receive more! I may do a smutty one next time...**

* * *

Isabelle left Langfell Castle in a towering rage, digging her heels into Falcon's flanks as he cantered out of the gate, her dark green skirts flapping in the chill breeze. It was her birthday; she had turned seventeen that day, and unfortunately it appeared to coincide with her mother suddenly realising she was there, and a grown woman to boot.

"Isabelle, I really think it's time we looked for a suitable alliance for you," she had said over their meal that afternoon, and Isabelle had dropped her spoon in her bowl of pottage, eyes widening with fear.

"Alliance?" she asked unsteadily. "You mean – marriage?"

"You're seventeen," said the Lady Marie, idly waving a hand as she spread butter on a piece of bread. "By your age I had already been married three years and borne two sons."

Isabelle swallowed hard. She had really hoped to put this off, at least until her father got back. Did that mean...?

"Is Father coming home?" she asked. "Have you heard from him?"

Lady Marie frowned. "I have not. You know I'd tell you if we heard anything. It's past time for you to marry." She took a bite of her bread, watching her daughter. "I've decided to invite the Earl of Salisbury with his retinue and several of the local knights to an evening of music and dancing just before Christmas. And Sir Guy and several of the knights will be here later this evening. Won't that be delightful?"

_Won't that be a chance for me to be displayed as though I'm a farmer's prize cow, _thought Isabelle. She pushed her chair back and stood up.

"If you'll excuse me, Mother, I'm going for a ride," she said coldly, and swept from the room.

* * *

It didn't take her long to reach Avonleigh at the pace she set, and she slowed Falcon to a trot as she passed through the town, several of the townsfolk tugging their forelocks to her as she went. Isabelle nodded to as many as she could, but her eyes were fixed on the large house at the end of town. She dismounted, patting Falcon, and walked him around to the stables, tossing a coin to the stable-boy, Henry.

"Give him some oats and a rub-down," she said. "I've ridden him hard."

Henry ducked his head respectfully. "Yes, m'Lady," he said, in his piping voice, and she smiled at him, a little of the tension leaving her as she stood on familiar soil. Hitching up the skirts of her dress, she strode towards the barn, where she expected Rum to be at this time of day. His three apprentices were already working away, producing yarn at an incredible rate. Isabelle had marvelled at the new spinning wheels, and how much quicker they were than the usual spindle and distaff. They spared her a glance, but Rum wasn't there, and so she walked around to the front of the house and knocked on the door.

The past three years had seen their relationship grow into something beyond friendship. He seemed to understand exactly how she felt, what was important to her, what she hated about her life. He had lent her many books, and Isabelle had spent glorious hours lapping up knowledge in new ways of healing, military strategy, and even recipes for medicines and good things to eat. He had introduced her to Doc, the strange old healer who lived in a small cabin in the woods, and he had been pleased to teach Isabelle some of his secret recipes for medicines, all of which seemed to work better than those the monks peddled.

She sometimes spent all day with the two men, talking until the sun went down, but this was, all too often, not possible. Rum had his apprentices to consider, after all. Her favourite day was Sunday. After attending church with her mother and Hannah (she never saw Rum and Doc in the church, but this didn't bother her) she would go to his house and sit cross-legged on the sheepskin rug while he poured her a cup of wine or two. They would talk, about all manner of subjects, from religion to politics to wars to the rearing of livestock. They would often argue; Isabelle had a temper and was relatively easy for him to rile, and several times she had ended up shouting at him, her eyes flashing before she stormed out. But she always went back.

She was aware that she was in love with him, and that she had been almost from the first, but she was nervous, unsure whether he knew (if he did, why didn't he say something, and if he didn't, was he just immensely stupid?). She had not pressed the issue yet, or told him anything, but her mother's mention of marriage that morning had spurred her into action; she knew she didn't have much time left.

Rum was washing his hands when he heard the knock on the door. He had been dying yarn, and the colour was sometimes difficult to get out. He intended to set the apprentices on it tomorrow, as soon as this yarn was dry. He needed to go back out to the barn, to check on what they were doing before dismissing them for the day. The orange winter sun was already slipping towards the horizon, although it was only a couple of hours past noon. The knock sounded again, insistent, and he dried his hands and went to the door, eyes widening as Isabelle rushed inside and began pacing the floor.

"Isabelle," he said, pleasantly surprised. "How are you?"

She continued to pace, biting her lip, and he decided to let her gather her thoughts while he poured her a cup of wine, along with one for himself. She was looking as ravishing as always; her dark green dress suited her pale skin and dark hair, and it had a belt embroidered in gold, with the same pattern around the neckline. A thick cloak of fine green wool sat about her shoulders, which she was currently tearing at impatiently. She got the thing off, throwing it over the back of his chair. He eyed her, drinking her in, the swish of her skirts and the determined, but slightly fearful look on her face. He loved her, of course, and he knew that she loved him, that she was his, albeit not in word or deed. He held out the wine to her and she stopped abruptly, taking in from him with a muffled word of thanks.

"Are you going to tell me what's upset you?" he asked mildly, and she snorted.

"Mother decided, after several years of not noticing my existence, that she's going to take charge of finding me a suitable _alliance_," she said pouring all the scorn into the last word as she could.

She turned to face him, her chest heaving with outrage, and tried to interpret the sudden, closed look on his face.

"I see," was all he said, and she glared at him.

"You _see_? Is that it? Help me think of something!"

"You've been of an age to be married for several years now," he said reasonably, making her scowl. "You must have known this was coming at some point."

"But I don't _want _to be married!" she whined. "At least not to – Mother's invited the Earl of Salisbury up before Christmas. I _hate _him! He's vile and cruel, and she'll make me marry him unless I can put him off."

She dropped her head, and he reached out to touch her arm briefly before pulling back.

"I will let no one harm you, Isabelle," he said quietly.

"I fail to see _how_," she said sourly, taking a drink of her wine. "Would you follow me to Salisbury?"

"I'd follow you anywhere," he said softly. "And kill anyone who raised a hand to you."

She looked up at him then, and her lips parted at the intensity in his dark eyes. He was standing too close; she could almost feel the heat from his body. He reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently stroking over her smooth skin, his scent enveloping her and making her head spin. She swallowed hard, and he suddenly pulled away, leaving her feeling strangely alone.

"It will be dark soon," he said. "You should get back to the castle."

She stood for a moment, breathing hard, trying to will courage into herself as she looked at his back.

"It's my birthday," she blurted, and he paused, turning back to her.

"Oh? And how old are you, Isabelle?"

"Seventeen, you know that," she admonished, a small smile on her lips. He took a step closer.

"And did you get some precious gifts from your suitors today?" He spoke with a mocking drawl, and she pulled a face at him.

"I don't know. I left the castle before I could be forced to sit through any of the tedious conversations with the desperately dull knights that Mother approves of. I wanted to see _you_. I wanted to ask you for something." She gazed at him clearly, hoping he would take the hint.

"Indeed?" His voice was warm, soft, humming through her and making her shiver. "And what might that be?"

Her breath hitched. "A kiss," she said defiantly. "I want you to kiss me. As – as my birthday gift."

"Ah." He looked her up and down slowly. "So you only want the one, then?"

"Yes – I mean, no – I mean…" She trailed off, blushing furiously. "Shut up! Are you going to kiss me or not?"

He pressed a hand to his heart, raising his eyes to the ceiling as the heavy gold ring on his finger winked in the light, its blue-grey stone shining.

"Such courtly grace!" he sighed. "How could I resist?"

She glared at him, wanting to stamp her foot in frustration, and he chuckled, moving closer to her, so that her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were dark in the candlelight, the amber glow from the fire warming his skin and picking out highlights in his hair. She could feel his cool breath on her face, and breathed in his familiar scent as he stepped up to her.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly, and she nodded. She had been ready for _three years_. He sighed softly, a hand stroking her hair gently and making her shiver.

"This will change things," he said gently. "You know that."

It wasn't a question, and so she didn't bother to answer. She _wanted _it to change things! She _wanted _him to see her as she saw him! She wasn't a girl any longer. She lifted her chin and stared at him defiantly, making him smile. Their bodies were almost touching, and she found that she was breathing hard, her chest heaving.

She stood stock still, unsure what he wanted her to do, her belly churning and twisting with something she couldn't define, something that she had felt since she had met him. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he lifted his hands to cup her face, brushing a curl of hair back from her, and gazed at her for a moment. Isabelle could see gold flecks in his eyes, their deep brown almost black in the candlelight, and she felt her heart fluttering as he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

She felt a fire burning through her at his touch, gasping as his soft tongue parted her lips and explored her. Hannah and the other girls had never mentioned tongues, in the giggling conversations she was not supposed to overhear. It felt wonderful, though and she gently touched her own against his, making his grip tighten. She clung to him, pressing her body against his, feeling the hardness of him against her as he deepened the kiss, his fingers sliding into her hair and sending shivers through her whole being. She let out a tiny moan as one hand slid down her back and into the hollow of her spine, tugging her flush against him so that she could feel his desire. It was everything she had thought about in the dead of night, when she tried to fill her head with thoughts of him in the hope that she would dream of his touch. It was more. She had not imagined the rush of heat that would surge through her, the way wetness would pool between her legs just from his kiss. She could taste him in her mouth, could feel the roughness of his cheek against her smooth skin, and a brief thought flitted through her head of what it might feel like against her breasts. She moaned again at the thought of it.

A strange feeling was running through her, like an itch under her skin that she couldn't scratch. She wanted…she wanted… That was it. She _wanted_. She wanted _him_, wanted him the way a wife wanted a husband, although according to the Prior that in itself was sinful. She briefly recalled a sermon she had attended the previous week. The daughter of Mrs Brewer, the owner of the tavern, had refused to share her wastrel husband's bed for several weeks after catching him in the ale store with one of the serving wenches. The husband must have gone to the Prior, because his sermon was full of the duties of a wife to lie with her husband, that there should be no pleasure in it, but that it was solely for the getting of children, and only where such a union had been blessed by God. Anything else was adultery, and sinful. Isabelle had watched the husband nodding sagely along with the sermon, his wife bowing her head in shame, and her lip had curled at the hypocrisy of it all. How could this, this wonderful feeling, be sinful?

She pressed herself against Rum, her fingers sinking into his hair and drawing a tiny noise of pleasure from him as his tongue stroked hers. The noise excited her, made her want to do more, pull more noises from him, do everything she could with him. Did that make her a wanton, a Jezebel? She was sure the church would not approve. Not to mention her parents. If her father ever found out, Rum would be lucky to get away with a flogging. She banished the unwelcome thoughts from her head and lost herself in his kiss, in the feel and taste and scent of him.

Rum drew back from her, slowly, letting the kiss become soft and gentle once more before releasing her from his arms. Isabelle stood on shaking legs, her lips bruised, her eyes bright with desire and surprise, and he smiled warmly at her as she put her hands on his chest to steady herself.

"I love you," she said breathlessly. "I love you. Completely and utterly. I have since we met."

He kissed her forehead, brushing an unruly curl away and tucking it behind her ear, and traced her lower lip with his calloused thumb.

"I love you, my little Belle," he whispered. "Until the end of time."

Isabelle's heart swelled with joy and love, and she fell against him, tilting her head upwards.

"Kiss me again," she murmured, and he grinned.

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed. I couldn't resist… Back to your prompts next time, promise! I was just feeling self-indulgent :)**


	5. Tethering Of Two Souls - rated M

**A/N: anna4bates prompt: 'Can we have some more first life smut?' Why, certainly!**

**For those not familiar with the 'verse, this is the first life Gold and Belle shared, tens of thousands of years ago, except then they were called Cerin (which means 'little dark one') and Elena (which means 'light'). This one-shot is set about a week after they were first bound together. They've left their tribe along with Doc and are travelling where his visions take them.**

**OneMagician, Lattelady, JosephineM, Kiri Huo Ziv, Twyla Mercedes, crazykat77, Erik'sTrueAngel, Grace5231973, AquaJasmine23: thank you for your lovely comments and prompts. Oh, and I don't own Once Upon a Time (alas) :(**

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The three returned to the camp as dusk was approaching. Cerin and Doc had erected the tent of animal skins that morning when they had found the little sheltered clearing, and Elena had collected firewood and built it up into a pile that would burn throughout the night once lit. She was immensely glad that Cerin had suggested they do so; the battle with the water demon had been lengthy and she was exhausted, not to mention soaked to the skin. Doc's visions had taken them to the tiny lake near a small settlement of hunters, and the tales the people had told them the previous night over shared broth and roasted boar were grim indeed. A child had disappeared while going to fetch water only that morning, and half the tribe were out looking for her. They had no Seer – this tribe was too small – but they had heard tales of demons that lived in the lakes and whirlpools and sucked the souls from the bodies of their victims.

Doc had seen a way to destroy the creature using a combination of a protection spell and a banishing spell, but had no idea how to cast either. To everyone's surprise (except, apparently, his) Cerin had displayed a great affinity for magic, and took control of the power they wielded in their small circle. He had discovered that the stones the Seer had given them had their own power, but when each was held by its owner and all three were close together, that power was multiplied.

The water demon had not gone quietly, thrashing and screeching, its jaws still bloody from its last victim. Its powerful tail had caught Elena unawares, ripping her out of the circle and hurling her into the lake. She had a vague glimpse of the look of horror on Cerin's face and him yelling her name before she plunged beneath the surface and sank like a stone. Panicking, she had thrashed her arms and legs, the water around her black as night, cold as ice and churning with the creature's struggles. Its tail caught her around the head, and she was dazed, some of the breath knocked from her already straining lungs. She had been getting weaker, her chest burning and her limbs moving feebly, when suddenly there were arms around her and she was pulled back to the bank of the lake. Cerin had hauled her out, dragging her through the mud out of the way of the creature, which Doc was desperately trying to contain within the spell.

They had managed to defeat it on the second attempt, Elena staying well out of the way of its tail, and with a final push from Cerin it was banished back to the realm of shadows. They had all collapsed onto the churned mud of the bank, breathing heavily, and Elena decided then and there that she would never again be a weak link in their chain.

They had trudged wearily back to their camp after giving the good news to the tribe, and receiving a boar carcass and heartfelt thanks as payment. Doc had fallen asleep almost immediately, stretched out and snoring on one side of the furs they had piled in the tent. Elena crouched by the fire, shivering and wet through, while Cerin, who had not fared much better, made tea and fetched furs from the tent to drape around them.

Elena pulled off her sodden laced boots with difficulty, the laces having swollen with water and her fingers numb with cold. It was summer, but there was a chill in the air that came down from the mountains and she could not stop shaking. She managed to unlace the trousers of soft skin Cerin had made and peel them off, sitting in her tunic to dry her hair by the fire. It had curled to a tangled mess after its dip in the lake and journey through the mud. She really needed to wash it properly and brush it out with the dried teasel head she had packed for that purpose, but for now she settled for finger-combing it as it dried, her teeth chattering.

Soft warmth enveloped her, and she looked up with a smile as Cerin dumped a thick fur around her shoulders. His hair was still damp, but he was far less wet than she. He had removed his tunic and boots and was clad only in his trousers.

"You'll warm up quicker if you take that off," he said, gesturing at her tunic, and Elena blushed. She wasn't sure _why_ she blushed, as he had already seen her naked, but she turned her back anyway, peeling off the tunic and feeling his eyes on her bare back before she wrapped herself in the fur from shoulders to knees, sighing as the warmth started to build.

"You were right about that," she said, and he grinned at her, pouring the nettle tea into bowls and handing one to her.

"You did well today," he said, and held up a hand at her disbelieving snort. "Not many girls your age could face down a water demon and survive."

"I'm a woman, now," she reminded him somewhat tartly. "You were there, remember?"

He showed his teeth. "Indeed you are. I'm unlikely ever to forget. Woman, then."

Elena sighed, stretching and trying to work out the stiffness in her shoulders without flashing him. "And if doing well is getting dragged into a lake and having to be rescued, I'd hate to see what happens when I do badly."

He took a sip of his tea, dark eyes watching her. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It was our first time working together, our first time casting a circle, other than practicing, and our first banishment. I think we ought to celebrate."

Elena blew on her tea to cool it, eyeing him curiously.

"Where did you learn about magic?" she asked, and his smile was wry.

"Do you remember I told you about the Seer in my tribe who told me to find you?" he asked, and she nodded. He stretched his legs out, letting the fur gape open to show his lean, tanned chest.

"Well, she knew what I'd become, although she wouldn't tell me all of it," he went on. "She taught me magic, enough for me to know I had a skill for it and wanted to learn more. She taught me all she knew, but her knowledge was limited. That's when I decided to leave and search for you. I was searching for more magic, too."

Elena was intrigued. "What about _our _Seer? Did she teach you anything?"

Cerin grinned, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "This and that. She insisted on teaching me binding and banishing spells, rather than what I wanted to learn. I always wondered why that was. Bloody woman obviously saw this coming."

Elena looked thoughtful, chewing her lip. "It must be a terrible burden," she said, almost to herself. "To see the future. To be powerless to stop it."

Cerin jerked his head at the tent. "Ask Doc. He says he only gets pieces, fragments. It's like trying to put a rock back together after it's shattered into a hundred bits."

"Hmm." Elena sipped her tea, pondering. The sun had fully set, the sky a deep blue-black lightening to a thin band of dark orange near the horizon. She flicked her eyes to Cerin, finding that he was watching her, his eyes burning with something that made heat coil in her belly.

"Thank you for saving me," she said, and he smirked.

"It would be bad if my new mate failed to last more than a few days," he said in an offhand manner. "Besides, that blood ritual we went through was a pain in the arse. One time in my life of a Seer walking in on me in an intimate moment is one time too many, thank you."

Elena giggled, reddening slightly as she remembered. He smiled at her, and she sensed that he was watching her eyes, the way they sparkled, the glow of the firelight on her smooth cheeks.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too much," he said suddenly, and she frowned in puzzlement, before her expression cleared.

"No – at least, only a little. I ached for a day or two. I'm fine now," she added hastily, as he grimaced.

They had not lain together since the night they had been joined, and she had been glad of it for the first couple of days, her body aching in places she hadn't known she possessed. Once that feeling had subsided, they had been too busy travelling to their current destination, and opportunities for intimacy in a shared tent were somewhat lacking. She could tell that he wanted to lie with her now, though, and she welcomed the thought, her desire a pleasant thrum in her body. Sure enough, he slipped the thick fur from his shoulders and spread it out on the ground, standing up.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand to her, and she scrambled up, her legs weary from the travel and the struggle of fighting. She still had the fur clutched around her, and he focused on her face, long fingers brushing her unruly curls back, thumbs stroking over her soft cheeks. She ran her eyes over his smooth chest and back up to his face, his deep brown eyes darker than ever in the light of the fire. There was a golden glow deep within them, a reflection of the fire that burned beside them. The fire within him.

"Beautiful, my love," he murmured. He slid his little fingers under her jaw and tilted her chin up, bending to kiss her, his lips soft and warm.

She let herself relax against him, her mouth opening for him, more confident with the intimacy of their kissing. He made a deep sound of pleasure as her tongue brushed against his, his hands sliding into her hair and making her shiver. Her arms were still between them, clutching the fur around her, and after a minute or two he drew back, kissing her gently before putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Let me see you," he whispered, and she bit her lip, relaxing her grip and letting go of the edges of the fur. His fingers tightened on it, pulling it slowly away from her, his eyes roaming over her as more of her pale skin was exposed. She felt herself blush under the intensity of his gaze, and wanted to lift her arms to cover her breasts as the night air swept over them, making her nipples harden. She kept her arms firmly by her sides, raising her chin to look at him as he threw the fur down beside his and turned back to her.

"Lie down," he said softly, and she obeyed, pulling the fur over herself as he unlaced his trousers. She watched as he peeled them off, the taut muscles of his thighs and stomach jumping in the firelight. She could see that he was ready for her, and now that she knew what to expect she was looking forward to it, her body trembling with anticipation.

He knelt beside her, lifting the fur away from her and lying down next to her, propping himself up on one elbow. His mouth found hers again, and she responded eagerly, her belly tightening with want, a tingling running through her. She wanted his fingers on her. His hand started to caress her, stroking over her shoulder and down her arm before sliding up to cup her breast. She reached out to him, her fingers moving over the smooth skin of his chest, feeling the hard muscles of his shoulders, before caressing his cheek while he kissed her. He made a growling sound deep in his throat, leaning over and pressing her back into the furs, and his hand stroked over her hip and slipped between her legs, fingers gently probing her curls. He gasped as he felt her wetness, his thumb stroking against her and making her moan.

Elena arched her back, lifting her pelvis to meet his hand, his finger sliding into her as his thumb moved in circles. She pulled her mouth from his, panting, and saw him smile down at her.

"Is that good?" he asked softly, and she nodded fiercely, fingernails digging into his shoulders. She could feel the hardness of him against her thigh, and wiggled her hips, making him start as she rubbed against him. His eyebrows shot up, and he smirked at her.

"Keep doing that and it'll all be over before I learn what pleases you," he said, with a grin.

"It pleases me to have you inside me," she said, feeling bold, and his eyes darkened further as he kissed her with a sudden urgency, removing his hand from between her legs and rolling on top of her. She spread her thighs, feeling him press up against her, and lifted her knees slightly so that he could reach between them. There was no pain this time when he entered her in one slick thrust, and she threw her head back with a sigh, enjoying the feel of him, the weight of him atop her, his hard length within her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he moved, his mouth pressing wet kisses down her throat, his teeth gently nipping at her neck as he pushed deeper into her.

"Oh!" she gasped, her eyes widening, and she felt him grin against her. He pushed himself up on his elbows, taking her face in his hands.

"Alright?" he asked gently, and she nodded, moaning as he covered her mouth with his, the kiss burning through her, heat spreading up through her body. The feel of him rubbing against her was turning her to liquid, melting around him, their bodies melding, his tongue stoking a fire within her. He groaned as she dragged her nails down his back, throwing her head back with a cry as he hit the sweet spot between her legs again and again. She could feel him hardening further, his movements quickening, and he let go with a shout as his heat flooded her, pulsing within her. She was so close, so close, and she put her hands on his shoulders and rolled, pushing him onto his back and making his eyes shoot open in surprise as she straddled him, moving against him, her body slick with sweat and their mingled fluids.

"My beauty!" he breathed, reaching for her breasts, thumbs stroking over her nipples. She let her head roll back with a gasp, bracing herself with her hands on his belly, her movements quickening as she felt the friction build. She could feel him begin to soften within her, and increased her pace, edging closer and closer to the brink. His finger snaked between them, through the sodden curls where their bodies joined, and stroked her gently. She shattered, white light exploding in her head as she cried out, her body clenching around him, her limbs shaking. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling her close with an arm around her waist and kissing her messily as she collapsed against him, steam rising from their bodies in the chill night air. She kissed his mouth hungrily, trailing her lips across his cheek and down his neck, licking the salt from his skin to get the taste of him once more.

Cerin lay back, pulling her with him and tugging the fur over them as they caught their breath. Elena moved off him gently and lay by his side, his arm hugging her close against him, her head pillowed on his chest.

"I hope that means you two have finished." Doc's cross voice made them both start, and turn to face the tent. The little man was on his hands and knees, looking stern.

"I thought another bloody demon had come to attack us, with all that screeching!" he huffed. "Go to sleep, the pair of you!"

Muttering something about getting another tent, he turned around, closing the flaps behind him. Giggling, Elena settled back down, nuzzling Cerin's chest and sucking on his nipple, making him growl with pleasure.

"Perhaps we _should _make another tent," she sighed. "I don't think I'll be able to be quiet, if it's like _that _every time."

He smiled, slow and lazy, a sleepy look of satisfaction in his eyes. "Give me until the moon comes out from behind the mountain, and we'll wake him up again."

She returned his smile, watching the firelight flicker over his skin. Impulsively, she bent to kiss him, and squeaked as he flipped her onto her back. His eyes gleamed as he gazed down at her, stroking her face and hair tenderly, the scent of their pleasure on his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat, her stomach twisting as her eyes locked onto his. She could almost physically feel their bond, a tether between them, as though he were a part of her, and she of him. Hesitantly, she reached up to touch his face, and he kissed her palm gently, not moving his eyes from hers.

"I love you," he whispered. "Now and forever, my beauty. I am yours."

She swallowed, suddenly emotional, her eyes stinging. "And I am yours," she said softly, brushing his hair back. "I love you. Forever."

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**A/N: Ahhh, I love to write smut! But you already knew that :)**


	6. A Taste Of Honey - Rated M

**Anon (via tumblr): '****There was a reference in chapter 59 of TLG of how Marcus remembered in a previous incarnation when Belle agreed to marry him after he gave her *ahem* the first time. Could you write about that?'**

**Smut, you say? I can ALWAYS write about that...**

**So, this is set in a previous incarnation, some time long ago. Gold goes down on Belle for the first time.**

**Thanks to my reviewers OneMagician, crazykat77, Twyla Mercedes, Lattelady, deweymay, AquaJasmine23, AngelOfMusic44, MyraValhallah and spacecats.**

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Having finished the potion she was working on, and receiving Doc's approval, along with heartfelt praise which made her blush and hug the little man, Lira skipped through the small village on the way to Cameron's house, which sat at the outskirts, nearest the woods. It was getting dark, and she knew that her father would expect her back soon to help with the dinner, but she was bursting with excitement over her recent success in brewing medicines and wanted to share it with the man she loved. And she _did _love him, despite what her father and several of the elders thought. She loved the way that he spoke to her as an equal, and the conversations they had on a myriad of subjects. She loved the way his kisses filled her with fire and how his long hair felt between her fingers. She loved their arguments, and the sweet making-up afterwards, and the feel of his fingers on her cheeks and in her hair.

She had felt drawn to him since the day he and Doc had joined their tribe, when she had only been around thirteen years old. She remembered his sardonic smile as he nodded to her, and the way his dark eyes and his strange accent made her belly tighten in a way she had not experienced before. She had spent the next few years getting to know him, mostly though long conversations that occasionally turned into arguments, and finally, six months ago, he had kissed her for the first time, and she had known that she was his forever. Her father did not approve, believing that Cameron was both too old for her and nowhere near good enough, but as she disagreed with him on both these points and he only wanted her to be happy, she felt that he was unlikely to stop her from whatever she wanted to do. Just as soon as she figured out for herself what that was.

Lira pushed open the door to Cameron's small cottage, eager to show him what she had been working on since they had last spoken. He had asked her to marry him again, and she had laughed and tried to make a joke of it. That was the third time, and she knew that she couldn't keep stalling him. It was not her father's disapproval that was holding her back (although that was certainly fairly blatant). The rest of the tribe would also not be happy with the chief's daughter wedded to a man old enough to be her father, and who had a tendency to mock them whenever the opportunity arose. She didn't care what they thought, but she was still afraid of taking the next step and truly becoming his.

She knew that it was hurting him, and she certainly didn't _want _to hurt him, but the fact was that marriage scared her. Her own mother had died in childbirth, trying and failing to bring her brother into the world, and Lira had seen enough death in her young life to know that she wanted to live a little longer before risking herself that way. It was frustrating, though, particularly as his kisses made her want to melt and burst into flame at the same time. She found herself wondering, in the dark of the night, what else he might do to her, given the opportunity. Her fingers would sneak down between her legs, touching herself where she knew it would give her pleasure, but she was always left feeling strangely unsatisfied, wondering how it would feel if _he _were to touch her there.

He met her eyes with a smile when she entered, flicking his hair back out of his eyes and setting aside the deerskin he had been sewing into trousers. The fire gave off a pleasant heat in the winter cold, and made shadows flicker around the room. His skin was warm in the glow of the flames, several lamps sending out more light so that he could see what he was doing.

"Lira," he said, genuinely pleased to see her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She stepped up to him, dark curls bouncing, blue eyes shining, and gave him a kiss on the nose.

"I perfected the pain-killing potion that Doc was showing me," she said proudly. "I'd let you try it, but then you'd be no good to anyone." She giggled, blushing a little.

"Well, that's wonderful news," he said, standing up and drawing her close. "I presume you're here to celebrate."

She smiled shyly, dropping her eyes. "You can kiss me if you like," she offered, and then his mouth was on hers, hungrily, his hands pulling her close against him as his tongue parted her lips. She relaxed into him with a sigh, loving the taste of him, enjoying the feel of his hands on her. She wanted more from him, she wanted to be his completely, but her fears kept holding her back from accepting him. It was frustrating, and she had gotten angry with herself a few times over it. She knew that there would be no one else for her; she would only ever be his.

He kissed her thoroughly, letting his tongue tease hers as his hands roamed her body, cupping her small breasts and sliding over her buttocks, squeezing them through her skirts. Lira moaned slightly, which made his kisses harder, and she held back a grin at the feel of him against her, enjoying her effect on his body. Experimentally, she snaked a hand down between them, cupping him, and Cameron pulled back with a gasp, his eyes widening.

"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly, and she grinned.

"I just wanted to feel what it was like," she said innocently, and his mouth curled in a grin to match hers.

"You can feel what it's like completely if you marry me," he said slyly, and she sighed, pulling away.

"I told you, Cam, I don't want to get married."

"You have," he agreed. "Just not why."

Lira threw up her arms. "Because all the girls I see who get married never have any fun!" she complained. "They just pop babies out year after year, that's if they don't die in the process. They never go anywhere or have any adventures. All they do is cook and clean up after their stupid hairy lummox husbands!"

"My my," he said dryly. "A terrible fate, to be sure, but what makes you think that's what would befall you? I'm neither hairy nor a lummox, last time I checked."

"It's the fate that befalls all the women in this tribe," she said sourly, and he put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back to him.

"What if we were to leave the tribe, and go on an adventure of our own?" he asked quietly. "You, me and Doc. What do you say?"

Her face brightened with interest. "Where would we go?"

He pulled a face. "Wherever we need to." His finger brushed her cheek, twining a dark curl around it. "Would you marry me then?"

Lira sighed, dropping her eyes.

"I love you," she whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

"I do." His voice was soft, his touch gentle on her skin. "What is it that scares you?"

"I don't want to die before I've lived," she said, looking up at him, and he frowned.

"I don't understand."

"My mother," began Lira, her fingers kneading awkwardly in his tunic. "She…"

"Ah." He nodded, his expression clearing. "I see. I remember your mother." He put his head to the side. "Is that what you fear? Dying in childbirth?"

She nodded reluctantly, and he pulled a face.

"Sweetheart, I saw your mother when I first came here," he said. "She was a tiny woman, just like you."

"That's what scares me…" she interrupted, and he shook his head.

"I also see your father," he added. "He is, putting it bluntly, a big man. Quite how that worked in practice I'm not sure, but it's pretty clear that you took after your mother. Perhaps your little brother took after your father."

"You mean, that's why she had a problem giving birth?" asked Lira slowly. "I suppose that could be true."

"Whereas I," he continued, pressing a hand to his chest. "As your father has said in the past, am a 'skinny little runt without enough meat on him to interest a pack of starving wolves'." He grinned at her, and she giggled. He stroked her hair, his touch gentle. "I believe none of our children would be large," he added, and she shrugged.

"It's not that I don't want to lie with you," she said, feeling her face redden. "I do, it's just…"

He pressed a finger to her lips, cutting her off, and then bent to kiss her again, his tongue pushing into her mouth, his hands sliding down her back to cup her rear. She gasped, sliding her fingers into his hair, feeling the hardness of him pressing against her, and her belly tightened with need. He pulled his mouth from hers, pressing kisses down her throat and sliding his hand inside her loose blouse to cup her breast. She was panting as he squeezed her. He had done this before, once or twice, and the feel of his calloused fingers on her soft skin made her head spin and her heart thump and caused wetness to form between her thighs. He plucked at her nipple, and she let out a tiny cry as sensation shot through her body, all the way down to her groin. He trailed his lips up to her ear, his breath making her shiver.

"You know," he whispered. "There are other things I could do to you besides that. Do you want me to?" He drew her earlobe into his mouth, gently sucking on it. "Shall I show you?" he breathed, and she nodded fiercely.

He pulled back, motioning to her to lie on the bed, and Lira obeyed, still panting from his kisses. She scooted back, unsure what he wanted her to do, and then he was beside her, taking her in his arms and kissing her once more. His hand plucked at the laces of her blouse, unfastening them, pushing the soft material aside to free her breast, and she gasped as he pulled his mouth from hers. Her hands were in his hair, her fingers tightening on it as he lowered his mouth to her breast, and she arched up into him as his tongue found her nipple.

"Oh!" she gasped, making him smile against her. She could feel the familiar sensation deep in her belly, the pulling and tightening that she knew was her wanting, and part of her mind was aware that his hand was pulling at her skirts, tugging them slowly up her legs. She wriggled her hips, lifting them slightly to make his job easier, and she bit back an exclamation as she felt his calloused fingers on her bare thigh. He slid his hand slowly up her leg, and raised his head to face her, revealing her nipple, hardened and red from his attentions and slick with his saliva. She was breathing heavily, and his eyes met hers, asking a question as his hand inched higher. She nodded, and he stroked her cheek briefly with his free hand as the other slipped gently between her legs, his fingers sliding into her nest of curls.

Lira cried out at his first touch, his finger slipping between her folds and spreading the moisture he found there. Her few inexperienced touches there had not prepared her for how it felt to have _him_ touching her. The finger stroked, was joined by another, and his thumb began circling around the tiny nub that she knew was almost too sensitive to touch. She clung to him as he smiled down at her, her breath coming in pants.

"Is that good?" he asked, and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He withdrew his fingers, and she wanted to moan in frustration at the loss of contact, but he pulled his hand back, so that she could see his fingers glistening with her fluids. He put them slowly into his mouth, and her eyes widened.

"But you – you can't! That's – that's…" she stuttered, and he grinned at her, his eyes glinting wickedly.

"You taste like honey," he said quietly. "And now, my love, I'll taste you fully."

Before she had time to think about what that meant, he had moved down the bed, kneeling between her legs, and his hands were on her thighs, pushing them further apart. His hair was tickling her skin as it brushed her, as he kissed his way up the smooth plane of her right inner thigh, and she felt her breath quickening as he neared the top. He touched her again, fingers gently brushing against her curls, and kissed first one side, then the other. Lira let her fingers sink into his hair once more, unsure what to expect, and then his tongue touched her. She rose up off the bed with a tiny cry, partly surprise and partly pleasure, at his first gentle sweep. Then his tongue slipped fully between her folds and she moaned aloud.

"That's…" she whispered. "Oh, that feels…"

She couldn't seem to finish what she was saying, but as his tongue began to circle that sensitive nub again she couldn't bring herself to care. His mouth was hot and wet and his tongue was soft and it was the best feeling she had ever had. He had set a rhythm that was in time with the pounding of her heart, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her closer, his stubble scraping against her sensitive flesh as he moved. As he tasted her. His tongue slipped inside her, pushing in as far as he could go, and she threw her head back at the sensation of having him there, where she really wanted him. Dimly, she was aware that there was no going back from this, that sooner or later she would need all of him, and a part of her rejoiced that the decision was finally made.

His tongue pulled out of her, but was replaced by a finger, sliding gently into her as he returned his attentions to her sensitive nub.

"Gods, you're tight!" he breathed, pushing the finger deeper. "You feel so good, my love."

Another finger joined the first, twisting, gently curling inwards, and Lira felt something building, a wave of sensation rising up through her entire body as he licked her into a frenzy. She was gasping, her body arching upwards, her hands curling into fists in his hair, and her thighs gripped the sides of his head, keeping him there with his mouth on her.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispered, and swirled his tongue on her again. "Let it come, my love. Let it take you."

She wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she knew that _something_ was happening to her body, and she felt as though she was about to burst. Her breathing was coming in gasps, in tiny moans, her throat sore and her eyes wide, a faint sheen of sweat blooming on her skin. He redoubled his efforts, and for a moment she stopped breathing altogether, her entire body tensing as she waited, as his tongue and his stubble and his fingers worked her. Her body shook as she neared her peak, and suddenly white light exploded behind her eyes and she shrieked in pleasure, her hips bucking, her hands tugging at his hair and her thighs clamping around his head. He groaned into her, pulling out his fingers so that he could push his tongue inside her once more. She arched her hips up into him, crying out as he continued to lick her, and finally fell back onto the bed, panting and gasping for breath, her face flushed and her chest heaving.

He licked her slowly, his tongue moving in lazy circles as he lapped up the last of her pleasure, and kissed her swollen flesh before pressing kisses to her inner thighs. Slowly, he moved his way up her body, kissing her breasts, suckling her taut nipples, and finally he was looking down on her, stroking her dark curls back from her face and grinning smugly.

"How was that?" he asked, and she shook her head, still seeing stars in her vision.

"That was amazing," she whispered, and he kissed her again, moving his mouth around to her ear and sending a shiver through her.

"It's three times as good when we fuck," he growled, and she clung to him with a sudden fierceness at the coarseness of his words, the tightness forming in her belly once more, which she now recognised as desire.

"Alright," she whispered. "Alright, you win."

"I do?" He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking amused. "Is this some contest I wasn't aware of entering?"

"Shut up!" She slapped his arm, but feebly. She wasn't certain that she could raise the energy to do much more. "I mean, you've convinced me." She met his eyes, blue staring into brown, and cupped his cheek, brushing his hair back. "I'll marry you."

His grin was so wide, so happy, that it made her want to cry, and he kissed her deeply. She could taste herself on him, sweet musk and salt that was strange, but not unpleasant. She wondered how he tasted himself, and resolved to find out on their wedding night. Surprising him would be a fair exchange for what he had done for her.

* * *

**A/N: smutty prompts are always fun to write**


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